


Cygnus

by DenialSubroutine



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blind!Ignis, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, Post-Episode Ignis Verse 2, it's a tale of two idiots who love each other too much but are too stupid to see it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenialSubroutine/pseuds/DenialSubroutine
Summary: Ignis gets hurt during a routine hunt. Things change after that.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 8
Kudos: 104
Collections: Ignoct New Years Gift Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [autumnstwilight (sewohayami)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sewohayami/gifts).



> This is my story as a part of Ignoct New Years Gift Exchange for autumnstwilight. I had loads of fun writing it and for once, I actually like what I've done xD so I hope you do too!
> 
> A special thank you for [aliahadeline](/users/aliahadeline) for being a very supportive beta who not only helped with my spelling/grammar but had wonderful suggestions along the way, so anything wrong with my story is my fault entirely!
> 
> _Prompt #1 Protectiveness. One takes a hit for the other in battle, or one goes berserk when the other is injured._  
>  _(I enjoy the potential for Ignis and Noctis to have a complicated, layered relationship. Aspects of childhood friendship, king and retainer, battlefield comrades overlapping with romantic feelings. I also love pining and self-sacrifice along with hurt/comfort and whump.)_
> 
> I went with this one cause it sounds like my cup of tea and tried to incorporate as much as possible into my gift. So here we go!

It all started after Ignis had received a distressed phone-call from Cor.

A man at a construction sight in Leide had been reported killed while two others had been severely injured. The men, apparently, were too terrified to identify the carnivores in question, so the Marshal had made a decision to proceed with the course of action when the two recovered from the initial shock. 

Two days later another attack had been attempted in broad daylight in the immediate vicinity of the previous crime-scene—a group of young photographers had been idly taking pictures when one of them had sensed a peculiar charge in the air. In retrospect, it was what had probably saved their lives and miraculously, everyone involved had managed to get away unscathed. 

Having survived Starscourge and an almost decade-long night, once again people were starting to grow anxious. And, as much as every living being deserved a chance at survival, protection of the greatly thinned population of Lucis took immediate prerogative over the preservation of wildlife. 

The animals had to be hunted down.

That was how Ignis found himself fighting a pack of coeurls near the Keycatrich Trench terrorising people of an adjourned village. 

The morning air was brisk with just the right amount of crispy when Ignis sucked it in. The four of them were making their way towards the animal lair now. It was still early, although Ignis could feel the first rays of sunshine warm his exposed skin as an infrequent waft of wind ruffled his hair. Cobblestones crunched under the soles of their boots with every step, but aside from it, nature was yet asleep. Quiet. The kind of quiet that he would’ve liked to enjoy under different circumstances.

Afterwards, it was the usual agenda like he had done numerous times in the past—find the animals, devise a failsafe plan, wield the weapons and always, no matter what, stay on your toes. 

The first coeurl went down with relative ease due to their combined effort, its dying holler slicing the air with as much intensity as Gladio’s broadsword had done to its flesh. 

“Nice one, Big Guy!” Prompto exclaimed, a slap of skin on skin suggesting the small victory had been celebrated with a high-five.

In the past ten years, the two of them had grown closer with Ignis inadvertently drifting away. Sometimes he wondered if it had been his fault, or if their King all this time had indeed been the missing link—the bridge between their disparate worlds. 

“I know,” said the other with a hint of suggestion in his voice.

Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, Ignis wondered just _how_ close the two had become but it was neither time nor place to dwell on subsidiary matters.

Ignis strained his ears to locate the remaining three creatures and their relative positions when one of them took a swing at him from behind. Dodging the attack through the sheer power of muscle memory, he rolled across the grass, the morning dew soaking into his clothes while a swish of sharp claws just barely grazed against his nape. With no time to spare Ignis sprang to his feet, the crackling of electricity prominent and menacing, the blades a balanced weight in his gloved hands.

Feeling the animal’s eyes on him, Ignis prepared himself for a calibrated strike. Suddenly the air was knocked out of him as he got tackled to the ground from what appeared to be another coeurl. All of a sudden the world around him tilted and his back hit the ground hard, an unmistakable stench of dirt and musk overwhelming his olfactory senses. The creature aimed for a kill, its claws slashing his clothing. Undeterred, Ignis plunged a dagger into the paw pinning him down, the sound of quickly approaching steps followed by the swing of a sword, making the creature let out a cry and cower into safety. 

“All right, Specs?” A familiar voice asked and a hand gripped his, pulling him up from the ground. Ignis gave a curt nod, mouthing _‘thanks’_ as his lungs tried to draw in as much air as was humanly possible. With a squeeze from his hand, Noct let go, rushing back towards danger. 

What ensued afterwards was a game of strength, cunningness, and tactics with the animals having one advantage over Ignis—sight. He had long since learned to compensate for it with his remaining senses.

“Hey, Noct!” Gladio yelled from somewhere nearby as he landed another attack with his broadsword but the coeurl managed to escape unharmed if Gladio’s resulting expletives were anything to go by. “Come lend me a hand with this one will you!”

Ignis was busy fending off vicious attacks from what appeared to be the alpha coeurl, charging at him again and again with renewed persistence. Without elemental magic coursing through his blades his daggers could only do scant damage. Still, for what he lacked in efficiency Ignis made up for in strategy.

He then heard a series of gunshots followed by the sound of something falling to the ground with a thud, Prompto’s squeal alerting him to attention. 

“Are you all right Prompto?” He found himself crying out over the uproar and crinkling of electricity in the air. Another swing of whiskers almost had him lose his footing, but he managed, ducking out of their way in just the nick of time. When no one acknowledged his inquiry with an answer Ignis pressed on, “Gladio! Noct? What’s going on?”

“I’m all right,” Prompto informed him, out of breath, but something in his voice didn’t sit right with him. The uncertainty of his tone perhaps.

“That damn thing… It knocked him out,” Prompto added, sotto voce—a commentary clearly not directed at him.

“Knocked who out?” Ignis urged as his heart picked up its pace and he drove a dagger into the soft flesh of the coeurl with unforeseen force, slicing the creature’s gut open. Covertly, he felt desperation slowly creeping up on him—or maybe it already had its tentacles around his throat. 

A howl thundered across the field, bouncing off the trees. At Ignis’ feet the coeurl dropped to the ground. Immediately, blood seeped into his gloves, staining his fingers, its sticky substance still warm and very much alive. Ignis squeezed his daggers in a deathly grip, screaming on top of his lungs, “Talk to me!”

“Noct’s down!” It was Gladio’s voice this time, laced with panic. Or maybe Ignis’ nerves were finally getting to him, playing tricks on his agitated mind. He needed to focus. Someone needed to clarify, fill him in. 

“Down... how?” 

It felt like an eternity passed before a familiar voice rasped, Ignis’ ears twitching at the minute sound. “No I’m not! It’s just a scratch. I’m fine!” Noct let them know with a dry cough.

“Noct,” Ignis let out under his breath, his vision suddenly bright with all shades of blue, graceful shapes and raven-black silk which he let eagerly wash over him. Out loud he added, “I need details. Now!”

Something slammed into him full force then, sweeping him off his feet so quickly he could barely register what, who or how. One moment his heart was leaping in his chest with unadulterated relief, the next one had him struggling for balance. 

Someone was calling his name. 

Noct… 

Not wanting to cause unnecessary concern to his liege, Ignis opened his mouth to assuage Noct’s fears, to abate the storm rising in his voice. 

Ignis was all right. 

_‘Noct?’_ he endeavoured to say. Instead, a sputter of blood welled up in his throat and he fell into a desperate coughing fit. A coppery taste roused Ignis back to the reality of his situation, making him aware of his inability to move with the ground solid against his back.

The last thing he remembered was a desperate cry shaking his darkness, the sound of his ragged breath over the ringing in his ears. There was a clamour from the ongoing fight as he lay on his back paralysed, an explosion of pain in his gut as if he were repeatedly stabbed between his ribs. 

That was, until he passed out.

***

When Ignis came to, the first thing he acknowledged was that he wasn’t on a battlefield anymore. Faintly he could discern voices, muffled and distant, coming from what he perceived to be a room adjacent his own. He didn’t know how much time had passed or where he was, but he was enveloped in warmth and comfort. 

He wasn’t at home, Ignis conjectured. The air smelled oddly of disinfectant mixed with sweat and something reminiscent of flowers. Chrysanthemums—his favourite. A machine was beeping a steady rhythm and as he tried to assess his surroundings, he quickly realised an IV-drip was sticking out of his arm.

_In a hospital, then._

The weakness in his body was relentless—his limbs weighed like marble crags, his eyelids refusing to cooperate as he endeavoured to open them even a crack. He wanted to inform the voices behind the wall that he was fine but no matter how hard he tried, his lips wouldn’t obey his instructions. Instead, exhaustion was steadily taking claim of him and once again he found himself teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, barely holding on. 

Not yet. 

Noct needed to know he was all right.

A sudden sound of doors sliding open followed by footsteps alerted him. Ignis strained his ears and held his breath.

“And what good would it do?” Someone was saying. Prompto. From the rustle of clothing right by Ignis’ ear he appeared to have come to a halt by Ignis’ cot. 

At least his friend wasn’t dead. _But where was Noct?_

_‘Noct,’_ Ignis wanted to call out, but another voice chimed in, deep and gravely. 

“Maybe he’d get his head out of his ass before one of them gets killed.” A note of admonishment was pungent and clear, indisputably directed at him. 

_Had he brought Noct in_ _to_ _peril with his heedlessness? Was he...?_ No… Even with his thoughts being a jumbled mess, his words wouldn’t form no matter how much he strained himself.

A sigh. 

“Yeah. Still, it’s not our place —”

“Like hell it isn’t. Look at him!” Gladio paused and Ignis felt four eyes judging his traitorous form before the man continued, “One has a hole in his gut and a messed-up leg, the other one is bruised all over after being used as a human sandbag. Still think it’s not our place?”

Prompto hummed noncommittal in his tone. 

Nausea overcame Ignis with full force, an acrid taste of disappointment sharp on his tongue, a gaping wound in his chest no anaesthesia would lessen. _His actions had endangered Noct, after all..._

Somehow, it felt worse than being ripped to shreds by a coeurl.

*** 

His stomach hurt, so did his leg. 

The bottle of pain medication his doctor had prescribed before discharging him sat untouched on his bedside table where Noct had placed it upon their arrival. By the bed, where he had tucked Ignis in. But against Noct’s instructions, eventually Ignis had moved himself to the sofa, limping across his flat on one good leg. 

The clock on the wall was counting seconds, minutes, hours with the ticking of its hands in a patterned maddening rhythm as Ignis tried to catch the trail of words while they were persistently eluding him. With his fingertips running over dots with natural ease and practice, accustomed to the technique as if he were born with the knowledge of it, Ignis couldn’t help his thoughts drifting away. Over and over. Even being injured his mind was running a mile a minute, picturing the same scenario like a broken record. It was ironic how it could almost depict colours and shapes from hazy memories—the greenness of the grass and the blueness of the skies still fresh like a morning breeze. 

That harrowing cry Noct had let out.

Ignis blinked the memory away, sighing as he read the same line anew. 

He should’ve paid attention. He shouldn’t have given in to unfounded fears. After years of serving the Crown, caring for his charge—he should’ve known better. Yet there was no point in contemplation now, was there? Time was a sandcastle washed away by the next tidal wave. Now all that was left was a slippery clump in his hands that Ignis was determined to stick together through the sheer power of his will.

Ignis was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the front door creaking open or the fall of footsteps treading with utmost caution so as not to disturb his rest, until someone said, “What the fuck, Specs?” and Ignis jumped in his skin. 

Breath hitching in his throat he felt his cheeks flare up for no apparent reason besides an onset of guilt, so he smoothed his wrinkled dress shirt, tucked a loose strand of hair back into his quiff, and said with an affectation of nonchalance, “Hey, Noct.”

“I said, what the fuck, Ignis?” Annoyance was oozing out of every word. 

“What’s wrong?” Ignis asked as he swirled in the direction of Noct’s voice, only to choke on the last word with a stifled groan when another stab of pain pierced his gut like a dagger. Noct’s hands were instantly on him. 

“Lie back and try not to make any sudden movements,” he warned as his fingers started rubbing soothing circles into the flesh of his upper arm. The pain gradually melted back to a familiar dull throbbing. 

“You okay, Ignis?” Just like that the anger in his voice was replaced by concern.

“Yes,” he croaked out as he let his head fall back onto the cushion he was propped against.

“How did you even get here? I specifically told you to stay in bed, where I, if memory serves, helped you settle into.”

“I was bored.” 

Ignis imagined Noct looking at him with reproach in his steel eyes when the ensuing silence overstayed its welcome like a most importunate guest. All of a sudden he remembered the reason for the predicament they were in, while a wave of remorse washed over him tinged with repugnance. Ignis opened his mouth to recite another useless apology, but Noct beat him to it. 

“Do you want me to get your pain meds? How many have you taken already?”

Deception had never felt this appealing before as Ignis weighed his options in anticipation of disappointed looks, while his dignity was balancing on the other side of the scale. Still, with his integrity scattered all over the battlefield in Leide, there was barely use for dignity now, wasn’t there? He settled for the truth. 

“I haven’t.”

“Are you serious right now?” When Ignis nodded, lips pursed in a tight line, Noct let out a sigh, adding, “Don’t you dare move, I’ll fetch you the bottle.” 

With that the warmth of Noct’s hand disappeared as he retreated to the bedroom; he left in its stead a ghostly print as a reminder of something Ignis had no right to be missing. 

“I swear you’ll be the death of me,” Noct muttered under his breath, which Ignis surmised wasn’t intended for his sharp ears, but didn’t however, negate the truthfulness of that allegation. 

He heard a cap being popped and then, with a gentle touch to his wrist, two tablets were being pressed into his palm alongside a glass which he suspected contained water. 

“Isn’t one enough?” He asked, remembering the doctor’s explicit instructions.

“She said no more than three pills a day. And since you had none, two sounds like an appropriate dosage.”

“All right, Dr. Caelum.” Ignis said before swallowing the proffered tablets, just to appease Noct with his compliance. When Noct made sure he rinsed them with an excessive amount of water, he took the empty glass from Ignis’ hands, setting it on the coffee table with a soft clunk. Ignis didn’t bother reminding him to use a coaster, though involuntarily his lips twitched with an unspoken reprimand. Out of habit than anything else now.

“Feeling better?” Noct asked then. Despite himself, the corners of Ignis’ mouth curved. 

“It’s been two minutes, Noct.”

“So?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Ignis reminded him, feigning exasperation, as he tried to settle into a more comfortable position, so as not to aggravate his condition. “It’s not your usual remedy powered by Crystal magic. Medicine takes time.”

Noct hummed in acknowledgement. 

“How much time?”

“Depends. Oral drugs have to be broken down on a molecular level and absorbed by the mucosa first before they enter the bloodstream and get transported to the brain.”

“I know that, Specs. I had biology in school.” Ignis could almost imagine him rolling his eyes if the sarcastic note to his voice was any suggestion. “Forgive me for not wanting to see you in pain.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It wasn’t yours either. Yet it feels like you’re subjecting yourself to penance.”

_Since when_ _wasn’t_ _imprudence a moral crime?_ His instinct pointed out but Ignis promptly shut it down. He opened his mouth to object, but the aftertaste of Noct’s implication stung. He seemed to have forgotten how sharp Noct’s mind was, how astute his senses were. Noct’s steady breathing filled the silence descending upon them, supplying answers where there was a cumbersome weight of resignation. Ignis closed his mouth with a click.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself saying at last.

“What for?”

“You know what.”

“No, I really don’t.” There was an edge to his voice and Ignis felt as if he were being pinned under a scrutinising gaze that drilled holes into the depths of his essence. “What’s with all these apologies, anyway? Is it for becoming a chew toy for those coeurls? Or for not taking your meds when you’re clearly in pain? Or is it for shutting me out every time I try reaching out to you?” 

Ignis opened his mouth again, but nothing came out, so he ducked his head, taking the blame as he searched for something—anything—to avert an impending fall-out. 

When the quiet got to be too much he thought Noct would leave, but then the mattress dipped by his feet and a rustle of pages suggested Noct had gotten his hands on Ignis’ book. Then, Noct took a deep breath which sounded like any other mandatory intake of oxygen imperative to maintaining the life of a living organism, but felt like it implied a million unvoiced questions he’d never get answers to. 

“What are you reading?” He asked instead. Ignis was grateful for the change of subject. He was even more grateful for the company, however unadvisable that might have been. 

“Nothing you’d like, I’m afraid,” he admitted sheepishly. “I presume it was one of Gladio’s ways of cheering me up.”

A hand found its way onto the shin of his good leg and stayed there—a remedy to an ailment he wasn’t yet ready to name. 

“Read to me while I make you Quillhorn soup?”

Ignis’ lips stretched into his first genuine smile since the accident and he did nothing to disguise it. 

“I don’t have the ingredients. See, Noct, when you have an injury, cooking or grocery shopping for that matter, takes to another dimension.”

“You don’t say. Good thing I came prepared then.” Ignis could sense a blatant display of smugness in Noct’s voice as the man added, “Now get to the reading. Or get a nap, if you want. I’ll wake you when it’s done.” 

Now that he thought about it, the idea of sleeping sounded heavenly. 

“Don’t burn my place to the ground.”

“That’s my Iggy.” 

At that Ignis’ heart skipped a beat. Whereas his stomach and leg weren’t aflame anymore, Ignis realised something in his chest seemed to burn quite a lot.

With a final pat to his leg Noct pushed himself to his feet. Ignis caught a whiff of lavender soap as he was handed the book. He tried to savour it like a long-lost memory, while his lungs caught fire from holding his breath for too long. A desire to chase the smell when it was drifting away with Noct’s retreating steps startled him. What confused him even more was an unfamiliar need to express his thoughts aloud, to make their existence known. 

To let Noct know how unbearable the mere thought was of losing him.

The leather creaked and twisted under Ignis’ weight as he slid down into a more comfortable position, eyebrows pinched together as he tried to untwist the tangled mess of his thoughts.

_‘My Iggy…’_

To the noises of clattering kitchen utensils and an occasional cuss from Noct, Ignis read for a while. That was, until two pages in he drifted off, unexpectedly and mid-sentence, the book dropping onto his chest.

***

“Hey, Iggy, feeling better?” A slurred voice echoed in his subconscious and Ignis’ eyelids fluttered open, welcoming the ever-present darkness. 

“N- Noct?”

With a huff of breath and a light nudge to his upper arm, Noct placed something on the coffee table. It sounded a lot like a bowl of soup, judging from the strong aroma of onions and bouquet of spices tickling Ignis’ nostrils. Yawning he inhaled a lungful, finding that it, in fact, smelled quite pleasant.

“Do you want me to spoon-feed you?” Noct asked out of the blue and Ignis couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the absurdity of such a proposition.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ignis said while he barely contained a smile. “Just hand me the bowl, will you?” When Ignis took his first bite, the flavours exploded on his tongue like fireworks—all the colours of the rainbow and liquid sunshine. It wasn’t his recipe of Quillhorn soup, he established as an alteration was definitely made to it.

“Is it turmeric I’m tasting?”

“Erm… yeah. I kind of fucked up a little,” Noct murmured with a bashful tone to his voice. Apologetic, if Ignis had to put a name to it. “So, I thought turmeric is the same as cumin. Turns out it’s not.”

“I like it.” 

“You do?”

The uncertainty staining Noct’s inquiry made Ignis’ insides twist themselves into a knot. Noct didn’t need approval from him. _Especially him,_ Ignis thought as his fingers clasped the spoon in a white-knuckled grip halfway to his mouth. Of course, Ignis liked it. The fact that Noct had cooked it for him in the first place made it so much more special. Ignis’ heart fluttered like a maple leaf in the wind just thinking about it. 

“I liked your flame-roasted toast. This one’s a massive improvement.”

“We made a deal to never speak of the toast incident,” Noct groaned and Ignis could practically envision a slight tinge of pink adorning his cheeks. He desperately wanted to reach out and verify if his assumptions were true, when Noct cut his musings short with, “How dare you!”

Ignis startled.

“The point is, it’s a fond memory.” Swallowing another spoonful of soup, Ignis made sure to hide his own glowing skin behind the action.

“I burnt the toast to ashes Specs,” Noct snorted. “It’s a nice sentiment that you humoured me by eating it, but let’s be honest here, I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“I beg to differ. And since I’m the adviser of the Crown, I advise you to defer my judgement.”

“Oh? Then since I’m the heir to the Crown, I exhort you to take better care of yourself.” Ignis flinched as if being slapped in the face and Noct fell silent. When neither of them stirred, Ignis conceived it as the end of the discussion, but then Noct shifted in his seat, took a deep breath and said in a soft defeated voice, “What were you thinking, Ignis?”

As a way of response, Ignis set the now-empty bowl to the floor, stalling in hopes that Noct would finally let it go and never broach the subject again. When he didn’t offer neither an explanation nor a protest, Noct said under his breath, “Remember when we used to sneak out to that spot on the hill in Duscae?” 

Ignis felt his eyebrows raise at the unexpectedness of such an inquiry, but took the change of topic for what it was—an offering of an olive branch he didn’t deserve and a welcome deflection. 

Of course, he remembered. _How could he not?_ Those little transgressions made him question his principles—his suitability for the service to the Crown. From the moment he had learnt Noct’s name Ignis was doomed. So much so that he had stooped to lying to the King on more occasions than he could count, eagerly so, for a single smile on his Prince’s face.

At Ignis’ affirmative nod, Noct carried on, “There was this story you once told me,” he trailed off, then plucked the book still resting on Ignis’ chest to get it out of the way, before leaning in to fix Ignis’ comforter where it had slid off during his catnap, saying, “As far as I remember, it was about two friends who challenged each other to race across the sky and around the sun. Their chariots were burned by its scorching heat and they fell to the ground. What was the name of the constellation?” 

Ignis knew exactly which tale it was. Recollections of one special night came flooding his mind, with the two of them lying on makeshift bedding of pillows under a quilt. The stars had been twinkling above them, an occasional breeze calming their flushed skin; the smell of grass and soil filled their noses, the chirping of crickets in the distance and whispering of leaves in the treetops, the slumber which had been disrupted by the restless winds. 

Noct’s head had been lounging on Ignis’ shoulder, the mop of raven hair tickling Ignis’ cheek while Ignis had tried to lie perfectly still so as to not ruin the moment. They had been five and seven years old, respectively. Even then every cell in Ignis’ body had yearned to accommodate his Prince. 

He hadn’t recognised the feeling for what it was until very much later. 

_Love._

With time he had learnt to suppress it and pretend it hadn’t been a part of him like another limb. 

“Cygnus,” Ignis found himself saying now. “Zeus transformed him into a swan to dive into the river and retrieve the body of his best friend. For that Cygnus had to sacrifice his immortality, allotted to a time-span of a swan’s life.” He licked his lips and added, “Because every favour has its price.”

A hand was placed on his shin, eliciting an involuntary muscle spasm out of him, and Ignis winced with the residual pain shooting up his leg. Noct appeared none the wiser, as he muttered, “It’s a sad story.”

“Indeed.” At first, he was quiet, and Ignis could only guess which evocative paths Noct’s mind had taken while his stormy eyes scrutinised his surroundings with the scary perceptiveness of a man who hadn’t skipped ten years of his life for divine entertainment. He hoped they weren’t studying his face now, blemished with hideous scars. 

Ignis blinked, staring into the familiar darkness when Noct’s thumb started stroking his shin in an absentminded manner and said, “We had to be sneaky about our pursuits,” and huffed a bitter laugh. “I can’t believe we managed to trick the whole Crownsguard and my father. Sometimes you had to get especially creative, as far as I remember. And yet I miss the simplicity of those times. How ironic.”

_So do I,_ Ignis thought but didn’t dare voice his feelings.

“In the city, with all its architectural prominence and tumult of everyday life, we hardly ever looked to the skies. And when we did, it was plain. Insipid.”

For a moment his hand stilled and Ignis found himself holding his breath, wishing to have a single glance at Noct’s features. Read between the crease of his eyebrows and the noble curve of his mouth, all of the answers to his contemplations. He rarely bemoaned his disability, but at that very moment, it was particularly acute. 

It was all so confusing.

Ignis heard Noct sigh before he continued, “I went to great lengths to get you to take me to Duscae where casting one’s gaze overhead was like opening an illustrated book. Every picture had a story you were telling with such avidity. I don’t even remember whether my fascination was with astronomy itself or with _your_ passion for it.”

As Ignis directed his sightless gaze in Noct’s direction he could almost see the slight upturn of his mouth, his eyes watching an obliterated past play out like a film on the screen on the farthest wall of his living-room. He could almost see his hand fumbling with the hem of his black tee, pulling at a loose thread to take the seam apart, like his younger version used to. For all Ignis knew that was exactly what was transpiring, and he found himself on the cusp of telling Noct how much he craved to see his face. How much he...

Only, that confession died on his lips before it was even a coherent thought, because _why would he even do such a thing?_ If he had ever had a chance, it was too late now.

Instead, he hummed in embarrassment about his own insanity.

After a pause Ignis couldn’t place, Noct said, “Do you miss stargazing, Iggy?” and Ignis pretended not to detect a note of sadness tinting his voice.

“I do, but I’m afraid it’s for the wrong reasons.”

“How so?” With a swipe of his tongue, Ignis tried wetting his parched lips. 

“Can I have a glass of water, Noct?” He asked, swallowing around a dry mouth. Only then did he realise the blissful painlessness that had settled in his tortured body as he dragged himself up the backrest. Apart from that, he observed growing sluggishness, his thoughts jumbled and all over the place, which explained his feelings for Noct, previously stowed away in the depths of his consciousness, suddenly pushing to the surface. 

_He was high._

Ignis downed the glass of water in one fell swoop, which Noct had peremptorily handed him with only a bare sweep of his skin against Ignis’. The feel of that accidental contact stayed with him long after he had disposed of said glass, long after the perspiration on his fingertips had evaporated in the torrid air. Long after Noct had asked him if he was feeling better again, because empathy was in Noct’s nature. Ignis had given him an affirmative nod, for fear of opening his mouth and blundering something he would later regret.

The silence that fell upon them was entirely too comfortable, to Ignis’ surprise. He didn’t deserve to be comfortable. But it seemed that the guilt eating at him had been effaced with the physical pain, in its stead leaving a sweet, refreshing nothingness. His eyelids felt heavy even with his eyes squeezed shut, the ticking of the clock on the wall, and Noct’s regular breathing steadily lulling him to sleep.

“Sometimes,” he croaked out, fighting it, at the same time as Noct said, “Because I do —” and with a squeeze of his hand Noct encouraged him to go on. 

“For the look of utter happiness in your eyes. You didn’t even need to say it, but out there in Duscae there was a whole other story in your eyes, Noct. Written in stars.” 

Noct cleared his throat. “Erm, Specs?”

“Have I ever told you I’ve seen you in my visions back at Zegnautus Keep? The older version of you? What I wouldn’t give to have my sight back right now. For one last moment —”

“Ignis…”

“For what it’s worth, it isn’t me, Noct. This medication you gave me, I suspect it’s tampering with my clarity.” 

At that Noct hummed in contemplation. “But the doctor said —”

“It makes perfect sense. My heart rate is elevated. I can’t seem to get enough oxygen. It also explains the drowsiness and the unquenchable thirst. Besides, my neurological activity is in disarray—one moment I can barely catch my train of thought, the other I’m physically restraining myself from disclosing something embarrassing.”

“Such as?”

“For example, I’ve nearly told you that I’m in love with you,” Ignis blurted out and the following sharp intake of breath on the other side didn’t alert him to his slip-up whatsoever, so he continued as if nothing were amiss, “Twice, as a matter of fact. Thank Astrals for small blessings.”

“You—what?”

“Pardon?” _What was he saying?_ Drawing his eyebrows together, Ignis attempted to recreate his own path of reasoning before Noct had interrupted him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it any more than he could read Noct’s innermost secrets. The last lucid thought he could recall was that his very existence was detrimental to his King’s well-being, so Ignis needed him to grasp the gravity of Ignis’ mistake. 

“I’ve let you down, Noct. My behaviour...” He licked his lips again. Why did his mouth persist to feel like a desert? “My recklessness was unforgivable and for that I —”

“ _Your_ recklessness?” The weight shifted again, by what Ignis assumed was Noct feeling restless. “What exactly do you think happened in Leide?”

The memories came crashing down on him like a pile of bricks, bloody and jagged, beating bruises into his skin reminding Ignis of his betrayal in all of its glorified severity. Crushed under their weight, Ignis trained his gaze upwards as he twisted the duvet in his fists, willing them to subside. 

“I let my guard down. I allowed myself to be overpowered while I should’ve been vigilant. You needed me and I wasn’t there.”

“You got it all wrong. It was _my_ carelessness that almost cost me your life.”

“Nonsense.”

“Listen, Iggy,” Noct implored, every syllable an eruption of raw emotions Ignis couldn’t pretend to ignore. “By all means, your abilities exceed all expectations. Still, you didn’t _see_ it coming.”

“A person with a faulty vision can be absolved of many mistakes. An act of recklessness, however justified, is not among them.”

“For the brightest person I know, sometimes you can be awfully stupid,” Noct whispered and why was it coming from somewhere up close—just shy of his ear—as if Noct were kneeling beside him? _When did he manage to get there?_

Were Ignis to tilt his head, would their noses bump? With only a breath separating their lips... It was unfair.

“I like the sound of your voice,” Ignis disclosed, a revelation even to his own ears. “It’s akin to a melody you want to listen to over and over again, except you never tire of its tune.”

Swiftly, Noct covered his mouth with a hand. 

“Wait, let me tell you first.” Ignis registered his heart doing somersaults when the familiar heat spread through his body as hesitant fingertips cupped his cheek, urging him to face Noct. A self-conscious part of him resisted for fear of being seen—really seen for what he was—a broken shell of a human. A part that used to indulge Noct’s every whim, obliged eagerly. 

He could detect a faint trace of mint when Noct said, “That thing attacked you and all of a sudden you were lying on the ground and there was so much blood, Iggy. The instant I thought I’d lost you, I panicked. I panicked because I’d rather be dead than live without you. In that fuddled state I dived into the fight head first, throwing all caution to the wind. For that, I paid my price. So it was entirely my own fault.”

“It’s just the same, Noct. It’s _my_ job to protect you.”

“Whose job is it to protect _you_?”

Ignis shook his head, which was hard with Noct’s hand still fondling his cheek. Even harder with Noct’s face mere inches away and that persistent urge tearing him apart to capture Noct’s lips into a bruising kiss. Shut up that smart mouth once and for all. 

Despite his self-restraint, Ignis groaned but didn’t supply a response. If it weren’t for the responsibilities hanging over his head like a thundercloud, the conviction of committing treason by just thinking of Noct in that way, it would almost appear so easy to do that first step—to jump in with both feet, come hell or high water.

Meanwhile, Noct’s fingers moved to his jawline, thumbing that soft spot right under his lower lip. It was maddening, for lack of a better term. The quiet of his flat felt like the world’s biggest pitfall. 

“So all those things you said under the influence of pain meds,” Noct murmured and Ignis forgot how to breathe. “Did you mean any of it?”

“The medication you forced on me twice the required amount?” Ignis asked matter-of-factly, impressed at his ability to vocalise a coherent sentence with Noct’s hand unceremoniously caressing his skin. Instead of ceasing his torture, Noct had the audacity to edge even closer and bury his nose into Ignis’ neck while his other hand found its way onto Ignis’ thigh, massaging the flesh with tender strokes. 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” 

Barely holding onto his sanity, Ignis moaned so loud he would’ve been ashamed if he weren’t completely drunk out of his mind by Noct’s proximity—his lavender scent, his smooth skin, his everything. Safe and sound, at last. 

Reaching out, he sank his hands into Noct’s hair, revelled in its silkiness, flowing between his fingers like a river on a clear day, before saying on an exhale, “If you kiss me right now, I promise to consider your apology.”

Noct brushed his lips against the corner of Ignis’ mouth then. Not a kiss, just a tease and promise of more. 

“If I do, will you remember it in the morning?”

“I’d rather forget my own name,” Ignis breathed out, pulling Noct’s mouth against his.

**~The End~**


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I can.

“You’re so unfair, Specs. Fuck,” Noct says, pressing a mug with freshly-brewed coffee into his outstretched hand. With his brain muddled by sleep and severely under-caffeinated, Ignis doesn’t follow but hums in appreciation before he takes his first sip. It’s how he likes it—black with no sugar—and he plans to savour it to the last drop. But then Noct adds, “I swear I’ll die of blue-balls until your wounds heal,” and Ignis chokes on his coffee, lunging forward, and falls into a coughing fit which immediately triggers pain in his abdomen. He groans and spills the contents all over himself.

“Fuck,” Noct curses, snatching the mug away. “Did you scald yourself?”

Ignis shakes his head, still coughing a little. The comforter seems to have intercepted most of the fluid and its heat. Two hands land on his shoulders then, coax him back into a lying position, before one of them starts gentle rubs up and down his chest. 

When he, at last, doesn’t feel like dying anymore, Ignis croaks out, “What did you just say to me?”

Noct chuckles. “I think I’ll refrain from any innuendos this time.” 

“Noctis Lucis Caelum?”

“Yes, Ignis?” 

Ignis can clearly hear a smile in Noct’s voice however hard he tries to conceal it. He raises an eyebrow in question, cocks his head to the side, catching the hand on his chest with his to stop its advances. “Yesterday,” he says and clears his throat. “What did I do?”

A pause that Ignis can’t place, and then, “Oh no-no-no. Please tell me you remember.”

As much as he’d love to torment Noct as a payback, the corners of his lips tug upwards and he breaks into a full-blown smile of his own. Interlacing their fingers, he lifts Noct’s hand and places a kiss to his palm.

“I hate you!” Noct cries out, but it lacks vile, which is further affirmed when he leans in to leave a wet peck on Ignis’ forehead. “It appears I’ve developed a deeper appreciation for the concept of mortification for just a moment there.”

This time when he reaches out to trace the blush on Noct’s face with his fingertips, to re-draw his features in the memory by touch, he knows he can. His shirt is wet and sticks to his skin, but his cheeks hurt from all the smiling, and Ignis couldn’t be more proud of himself when he says, “Will a blowjob make it up to you?”

“Nngh,” he hears from the other side before his mouth is being captured into a bruising kiss and Noct sinks his teeth into his lower lip with a guttural moan.

Turns out, recklessness comes with natural ease when common sense is being sucked out of you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3 Happy New Year! May this one treat all of us better!


End file.
